Perfect Beach Day . . . Too Perfect . . .

Another perfect beach day . . . or near perfect: I pulled the wagon down early while Catherine was at the grocery store and got set up-- there was plenty of open space (because it's Monday) so I placed the chairs and umbrella at the high tide line, with an unobstructed view of the water, but the two old ladies next to me had piercing voices so I moved over a bit and then I really got set up: I laid down in Cat's low-rider beach chair and put my feet up on the taller Tommy Bahama beach chair-- so I was horizontal to the sand-- and then I put on my headphones and started listening to a podcast about America's failure to build high speed railway lines . . . it was sweet while it lasted, which was about three minutes-- then a family comprised of a harried mom and four children invaded my space-- and there was so much other beach space!-- and they were loud, they were chaotic, the rental umbrella guy put the umbrella way too close to mine (notice the thin sliver of sun between the two umbrella shadows) and then a portly kid started digging a hole that was destined to go underneath my beach chair . . .I was so ensconced in this family that I think people around us thought I was the dad-- so I got up and moved once again . . . and there I remained for many hours (my wife came down with sandwiches, which was lovely) and I knocked out quite a bit of a Tana French mystery novel (The Trespasser) and perhaps tomorrow I will invade some other person's space, just to see how it feels.

Things Are Quiet, Too Quiet

Cat, Lola, and I are settling in to our beach rental in Ocean Grove . . . we had coffee this morning at Odyssey Coffee- which resides in the old bank on Main Street, you can drink your coffee in the vault, if you don't want a window view-- and then we walked through all the lush gardens and Victorian architecture to the Asbury Farmers Market and waited in a very long line to buy some sourdough bread (Benchmark Bread) and then we went over to C'est Cheese and bought some cheese to accompany the bread-- and last night, for the first time in my life, I made espresso martinis with Mr. Black and they were delicious-- and the weather is beautiful, there's a breeze off the ocean, and this is shaping up to be a lovely and relaxing end to the summer (which is the start of every horror movie ever).

Let's Move It Along

Yesterday, I finished my first (and perhaps last) P.D. James mystery novel, A Taste for Death, and while I enjoyed the central mystery and grisly murder, the book became a bit of a bombastic slog in the middle-- too much furniture and interior description, too many interviews, too many characters-- I guess I enjoy my crime fiction a little less realistic, a little more meta, and much faster paced . . . because I am certainly not going to crack the case, so I don't want to spend forever reading about it.

Il Gattopardo

 

My new episode of We Defy Augury, "From Sayreville to Sicily: The Effect of Setting on the Psyche," is (loosely) inspired by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's great Sicilian novel "The Leopard," but I get some help explaining the theme from Jon Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen.

Big Weird Musical Project

So I've listened to so much various music in the course of my lifetime--mainly jazz, indie rock, prog rock, alternative rock, punk rock, emo rock, psychedelic rock, garage rock, grunge rock, electronica, industrial rock, blues rock, jazz-fusion rock, new wave rock, and hip-hop-- and this eclecticism has been exponentially accelerated by platforms like Spotify and Rdio, and at this point, as I bumble into early onset dementia, I can't remember all the names of the albums that I enjoy (such as el Guincho's "Alegranza") and I don't have an array of CDs or records to peruse AND I am often talking to my Google speaker while cooking or talking to my phone while driving and trying to recall the name of the album I want to hear while engaged in some other activity, and so I have started making a spreadsheet, in the form of a Google Form, with the names of all these albums that I love (and the artist and genre) and then I'm going to print this massive list out and keep one print-out in the kitchen and one in the car and this list will serve as my CD case and then I can peruse the music I love and listen to a greater variety of albums (because Spotify prods you toward listening to the albums and music you've been listening to recently and their random function never goes deep into your liked albums and songs) but progress has been pretty slow-- I'm scrolling through my Spotify album list and slowly typing the information into the Google Sheet-- but the upside is that I am listening to a wider variety of music while I do this ludicrous task of trying to make my digital universe more analog.

New Old Car Redux

Although yesterday's car-buying process took nearly eight hours, it was still a walk in the park compared to last summer's fiasco-- the people at Bell Audi were lovely and professional and up-front and didn't try to tack on sketchy warranties and oddball fees (nitrogen in the tires, anti-theft etching, dealer prep fee, etcetera) and they were totally willing to work with our budget-- and our side visit to Citi Motors to check out a Subaru Outback was fast and efficient and also totally transparent-- no weird fees, quick access to the car for a test drive, and a fast negotiation to the out-the door-price . . . so we were pleased with both the 2015 Honda CR-V with an immaculate CarFax and the slightly newer Subaru so we called our mechanic and he broke the tie-- and we are now the proud owners of a blue 2015 Honda CR-V . . . this car seems very similar to the Honda CR-V that our son Alex totalled in 2021 and maybe this time around we'll get to see just how reliable this model is.

For the Amount of Time This is Taking, I Should Be Buying an Infiniti

I would love to write a witty, profound sentence today, but this car-buying process is taking forever!

The Screwworms Are Coming! The Screwworms Are Coming!

Due to warmer winters and global trade, Africanized "killer bees" and armadillos and fire ants and cane toads have all made inroads from South and Central America into the United States-- but we've learned to live with these creatures-- but now we might get screwed by a parasite we eradicated in the 1960s but is creeping northward again, often in livestock wandering through the Darién Gap, a dense jungle region between Panama (Central America) and Colombia (South America) that usually acts as a natural barrier between North and South America-- but there have been more and more asylum seekers and refugees moving through, often with livestock, and so the screwworm is coming with them-- and it probably won't be as harmless as those stupid lantern flies, which peaked and then practically disappeared-- so enjoy your burgers now because you might not later.

Beware of the Auto-Pay

This is the second time in the last year that my family has been betrayed by the combination of predatory insurance companies and autopay—first, Liberty Mutual jacked up our rates without informing us (and this rate change was really hidden as we paid our home insurance along with our mortgage), and recently Travelers did the same with our auto insurance... so make sure you examine those bills carefully because apparently they can just raise the rates for no particular reason (the lady said the increase was because of rate changes in New Jersey and the cost of doing business... such bullshit), and so you have to switch home insurance every couple of years or so, and you might have to switch auto insurance every year or six months to avoid this scam—because Progressive (who raised our rates several years ago) will now insure us for much less than Travelers... and the worst is if you DON'T use autopay there are extra fees—it's a trap, I tell you, a trap!

Man vs. Bald-faced Hornet

Apparently, one way to deal with bald-faced hornets is to spray them with soapy water-- and I also read that bald-faced hornets are less active when it's dark-- so during yesterday's thunderstorm, I geared up in sweatpants, gloves, and a rain-jacket, filled a lawn hose end-sprayer with dish soap, enlisted my long-armed son Ian, and we ran the ol' "spray the soapy water smack the hornet's nest with a shovel end around"-- and while we definitely aroused the ire of these hornets, I'm not sure we really did much damage to the nest . . . but I'm not quite ready to call in the professionals yet, as I do have other schemes brewing in my head (I've been dreaming about this nest for a week now, it's totally invaded my subconscious, it's down there buzzing and humming and thrumming in my amygdala). 

Dave IS a Pelican

One of my students-- who is an accomplished artist and an aspiring tattoo artist-- asked if he could draw my portrait for an art project, and I said, "Sure!"-- because I think there should be more drawings of me-- and then he came back a day later and said, "Could I do something weird? Could I make you a pelican?" and I said "absolutely" because while my students have given me various pelican-shaped objects as gifts (which I find odd-- although I understand my last name is quite close in spelling to the large-billed bird, but I've had students with last names such as "Bell" and "Green" and "Hill" and I did not give those students gifts associated with their last names) but I never had a student transmogrify me into a pelican (complete with Under Armour polo shirt) and the result is funny and sublime and will probably be worth millions of dollars in a few years-- unfortunately, my wife has forbidden me from getting this image tattooed on my back.

It's Not the Humidity, It's the Not Working

I got a lot done today: went to the gym, gave the dog a bath, moved two heavy air-conditioners-- one to a dumpster, the other to a storage space, mowed the lawn, returned a pair of knock-off Birkenstocks, watched a bunch of videos on how to purchase a car-- but I still had time to take a nap and go out drinking with my friends . . . because it is summer.

Treat Yo Feet

My wife isn't very keen on my two new foot accoutrements: I got some knock-off Birkenstock sandals (called Cushionaire . . . classy) which she has deemed "the ugliest shoes I've ever seen . . . you can't go out in them" and I also got a rubber pinky-toe separator (which is obscured by the pleather) because my right pinky is really jammed into the toe next to it and when I go to the beach, sand gets stuck between my toes and chafes-- so I'm trying to create some separation.

 

A Tough Predicament to Resolve in 30 Minutes

When I went for my early morning swim in the ocean today, I certainly thought about the tragic demise of Malcolm-Jamal Warner—  he was one of the good ones from my generation, and born the same year as me and a native of New Jersey to boot— so when I swam out past the breakers, I pondered the fact that I was one riptide away from eternity— and Sunday night, I certainly thought about his TV dad — Bill Cosby— when I was out at the with my son and I forgot to watch his beer when he went to the bathroom and when he got back and found it, unguarded, he said: “Dad, I could have been roofied!”

LeCompt, Still Rocking

The whole crew went out last night to Shenanigans— a cash only Sea Isle dive club with very sticky floors— and we saw the venerable, inimitable, and ageless Mike LeCompt and his incredible bar band— and I’m happy to say that my son Alex— who recently turned 21– was able to see the man in action, and though LeCompt doesn’t have the pipes he used to, he’s still got all the moves and the confidence— and, as Alex noticed, the rhythm— he was impressed at how well the band cooperated with each other . . . they played the usual eclectic mix of songs (with more sharing of the singing duties than in the old days) including some Garth Brooks (Friends in Low Places) and “The Ferris Bueller Song”— as my son Alex referred to it— otherwise known as “Twist and Shout” and “War Pigs” and a Queen medley— “We Will Rock You” and “We Are the Champions” and “Suspicious Minds” and mainly songs of that ilk— but oddly, the bar was packed with young attractive women— very strange, he used to draw an older crowd and we figured he would adjust the songs to this younger bunch, but he did not really cater to them (the most recent song they played was Blink 182– “Please Tell Me Why”) so it was quite a scene in the club and I just hope LeCompt keeps it going for one more year so my younger son Ian can see him.

How About Another John Cena Cameo?

My family is at the beach— and while it’s not quite the same without my dad— still, the weather is nice, the water is warm, I’ve already played basketball with the boys and pickleball in Avalon, and last night, we were all tired and didn’t go hang out with my cousins, instead we watched The Office, which was a family favorite back in the day, and we reminisced about when comedy was comedy— unlike the new season of The Bear— a show which used to be at least a little bit funny but has gotten more and more depressing with each season.

Trump and Tariffs, Two Stupid Tastes That are Even Stupider Together

The irrationality of Trump's tariff policies cannot be overstated-- the fact that he slapped a 50% tariff on the tiny African nation of Lesotho is case in point . . . ostensibly because Lesotho runs a trade deficit with the USA-- but Lesotho is too poor to buy American products (and even if they did buy American products, they are too tiny a nation to buy very much) but we like to buy lots of diamonds and textiles from them-- so essentially they are being punished by Trump for being small and poor and doing back-breaking labor, but this silliness is nothing compared to what's happening with Brazil: Brazil actually buys more stuff from the USA than it sells, so we are running a trade surplus with Brazil -- hooray!-- this is a place that we export goods to and make money, but nonetheless, Trump is threatening Brazil with high tariffs because he does not like the way the Brazilian judicial system is treating fellow asshole authoritarian Jair Bolsonaro-- who staged his own Jan 6 insurrection (and possible assassination plot) because Bolsonaro felt his election loss was rigged-- sound familiar? . . . so to show solidarity with an abominable guy, Trump jeopardizes a trade relationship that actually benefits the United States . . . WTF?

Busy Like a Hornet?

Earlier this afternoon-- despite the heat-- I geared up-- sweatpants, work boots, sweatshirt, glasses, gloves, and I sprayed this bald-faced hornet's nest that is hanging over the end of my driveway with some wasp and hornet killer spray . . . the spray promised to shoot 27 feet but I don't think it had that kind of range, although I think I did some damage and later on tonight, as apparently, bald-faced hornets are less aggressive when it starts getting dark, I'm going to spray the nest with our garden hose and see if I can knock it loose . . . hopefully most of the hornets are stunned or dead from the spray . . . I will keep you posted (or if you don't hear from me, then I have succumbed to the stings) but mainly I'm impressed at how fast these creatures built this thing-- I swear it wasn't there yesterday. 

Africa Hot

Last night, my wife and I scored some free tickets to the Red Bulls game--our friend runs the Rutgers Mandela Washington Fellowship, which brings young African entrepreneurs to Rutgers for business networking and mentoring, but also some social activities--so last night they were all going to a Red Bulls match, they were taking a bus in but my wife and I chose to take the train to Newark and eat at Burke's Tavern, a Newark gastro-pub straight out of Brooklyn... there's some gentrification going on--and Burke's was delicious, especially the braised pork sandwich and beet salad--then we made the mistake of walking over the bridge to Harrison, instead of taking the PATH--this was a mistake because it was absolutely sweltering, jungle-hot outside--it seems New Jersey is moving from a temperate zone to a sub-tropical zone--by the time we reached the stadium, we were drenched with sweat... meanwhile, the African fellows were having no problem with the heat; the game was exciting, the Red Bulls overcame a two-goal deficit and won 5-3... I think so many goals were scored in the second half because the players wore out and couldn't run off the ball--anyway, we ended our day by taking the air-conditioned bus home, which was lovely--because you could nod off and not worry about getting off at your stop--and I'm looking forward to repeating this trip in the fall when the weather is more reasonable (for a person that grew up in a temperate zone, not the tropics).

Irony . . . It's So Ironic

As an English teacher, I'm always looking for examples of irony—and not "Alanis Morissette irony," such as "rain on your wedding day" or a "free ride when you've already paid"—those are examples of bad and good luck, respectively, not irony (although it is brilliant to improperly use a literary device and name the song as such; the song gained much more notoriety than if she had properly used the device; I should write a song called "Imagery" and fill it with abstractions . . . or a song called "Hyperbole" and keep it very understated)—and the trend of Trump-inspired ICE agents wearing masks when they do immigration raids, when the Donald actually posted (about "radical left" protesters) that MASKS WILL NOT BE ALLOWED and authorities should ARREST THE PEOPLE IN FACE MASKS, NOW! is just about perfect in the irony department (and that's not even mentioning the Republican stance towards masking during COVID).